37. Katya
37
R aiden takes a total of six girls—including me and Jael—down the river, and we all get off in a populated part of the city I don’t recognize. The fact that these ladies are all young and pretty, coupled with the way they follow Raiden with all the exuberance of a death march, has my mind bursting with possible scenarios as to what is about to happen, each one more terrifying than the last. We’re being auctioned off as sex slaves or blood slaves or both, sacrificed as part of some ritual nonsense, thrown in the arena to be eaten by some giant lizard, bull, cat, whatever. I want to ask one of the others if they know what’s going on, but I can’t catch their gazes. Every single one of them keeps her head down, eyes on her feet, as she walks.
I imitate them—head down, hands clasped in front of me—but my eyes take in every rock and flower, every building we pass and turn we make, just in case I get a chance to run. It’s probably a useless effort, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. We haven’t gone very far when Raiden takes a sharp right turn and leads us into a cave. The air is hot, suffocatingly so, and wet. It soaks my clothes almost immediately. Three women await us in front of a steaming pool. They each stand unnervingly still, their backs straight, eyes forward, towels and garments stacked in their arms. They look ready for war, not bath time. Under any other circumstance, I might have found that funny, but today I’m in no mood to laugh.
The six of us are ushered poolside, where we’re told to take our clothing off, in full view of the guards, and jump into the water. I try my best to be discreet, covering myself with my dress and hands, but I’m sure they all get an eyeful. I slip into the water. The heat feels amazing, but we aren’t here for a pleasant soak. The three women jump in with us—fully clothed, I might add—and proceed to scrub us raw. Finally, I manage to catch Jael’s eye. I’m afraid to speak, so I pointedly glance over at where the guards and Raiden wait for us near the entrance, praying she understands my unspoken question. “Are they going to hurt us?”
Lips pressed tight, she gives me a thin smile that I’m hoping means we’re going to be all right.
Once they’ve finished scrubbing off our first few layers of skin and washing our hair, we’re doused in a flowery perfume that makes me sneeze and clothed in those same flimsy dresses. We’re led from the cave to another building, this one tall and imposing, with spires that rise from the rooftop like a king’s crown to merge with the cavern ceiling. There are no scary sculptures climbing the walls like at Raiden’s house, but the giant metal doors are etched with the same thorny vines and flowers that seem to grow everywhere down here. It’s surprisingly beautiful, and I’m hoping that’s a good sign, like bad things wouldn’t happen behind such pretty doors. Right?
A little delusion never hurt anyone.
The doors open to a massive space crowded with fae. They sip from flutes while crystal chandeliers glitter above their heads and marble floors shine beneath their feet. They all wear elaborate masks that conceal the upper half of their faces. It’s a monstrous, yet beautiful, collection of hooked beaks and feathered brows, long-toothed muzzles, and golden scales and fangs, all decorated with sparkling jewels and silver and gold thread. The most sinister are the skulls that, even painted and bejeweled, look a little too realistic for my comfort.
The females are elegantly dressed in skintight gowns colored various shades of black, blue and purple and layered with flowing gossamer so long it puddles on the floor around their feet. Instead of corsets, their bodices are sheer with plunging necklines and decorated with gold and silver appliqués strategically placed across their breasts to maintain a small measure of modesty. The males are decked out in simple pant and shirt combinations beneath magnificent cloaks adorned with jewels and stitching to rival the ladies. Regardless of their finery, every single blood fae in the room has one thing in common: the ashari they wear on their index fingers.
My belly churns with trepidation, even as my stupidly hopeful mind works to come up with reasons for us being here that don’t involve massive bloodletting or gang rape.
We’re going to serve food.
We’ll dance and sing .
We’ll be placed on an altar, our throats slit, and our blood passed around in goblets.
My stomach rolls. I think I’m going to throw up.
Raiden starts toward the crowd, and they part for him, bowing in deference as he passes, while we scamper along behind him like baby chicks. Hundreds of eyes follow as Raiden leads us through the mass. He stops at a long table and directs one of the girls–a brunette I don’t recognize–to get up on it. Without a word of argument, she climbs onto the table and lies down. Raiden snaps his fingers and one of the guards hurries over to her, while Raiden leads us on. But I’m not looking where I’m going. I’m looking at the guard, who’s strapping the girl’s arms and legs to the four corners of the table.
My blood turns to ice. They’re going to strap us down so we can’t fight back. We’ll be completely at their mercy. They could touch us, bite us, bleed us and we wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop them. No, no, no, no. I’ve got to get out of here. I spin around and run headfirst into another guard. He grabs my arm and forces me to continue forward.
I try to scream, but all that comes out are gasping sobs. My throat’s closed up and swollen. My chest is squeezed tight like there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around it, and my heart is a freight train plowing into my sternum over and over.
I drop my weight the way Maxim always did when he was having a tantrum, but it’s no use. The guard just sweeps me into his arms and carries me, as one by one, the girls are made to lie on a table. They obey without question, their expressions passive as the guards come round to strap down their arms and legs. They’re all so calm, I wonder for a moment if maybe this isn’t going to be as bad as I think it will be. That all flies out of my head the moment the guard holding me turns for a table. This is too familiar, too much like the time at the palace—the chair, the straps, the blood dried into the wood. And I’m back there now, fighting the guards as they try to sit me in the torture chair. No, not a chair: a table, and there are not two, but three guards wrestling me onto it. My spine cracks against the marble top. I try to shout, but a thick piece of cloth is stuffed into my mouth. Now there are four guards, each of them holding down an arm or leg while I kick and thrash.
Raiden steps up beside me, and I plead with my eyes for him to stop this.
He backhands me across the cheek and pain explodes through my face and skull. Shock quiets my thrashing for a split second and the guards take the opportunity to tie me down—my arms and feet spread into a giant X. The fae descend on me like a murder of crows. Hands rove my legs, arms, belly, chest. Fingers tear into the delicate fabric of my dress, shredding it to bits. The cool air kisses my skin, raising gooseflesh. A sharp pain pierces my thigh, shoulder, bicep and breast, then wet heat soothes the pain as multiple fae drink from me all at once.
A tingling warmth builds in my wounds, then spreads throughout my body and into my sex. I moan into my gag as the pleasure builds and builds. It grows hotter and sharper—the red, hot edge of a knife. My moans turn to screams as it tears through my body, searing my skin and turning my blood molten. It’s too much, too much. I am lost—sight and sound blurred and muted as though I’m underwater, and all that’s left is the pain.
Then I shatter .
My body convulses, back arching, teeth clenching as the orgasm rips through me over and over again while the fae continue to lap and suck at my wounds like a horde of leaches. At some point, the gag must have been removed or spit out because I can hear my own screams now. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” I shout. The horrific faces blur in and out, hooked beaks and sharp fangs blotting my vision. They stand over me and laugh. A fox face with blood-tainted lips crushes them to mine. I jerk my head in a weak attempt to jar him loose, but he won’t let me go. Then I feel it, just below the surface of my skin: buzzing. It washes over me like cool water, both soothing and invigorating.
The buzzing… I felt this before, felt it when…
I bite down on the fox’s lower lip and pull. The fox fae screams and pounds the side of my head. His thick, tangy blood floods my mouth and slides down my throat, and there it is, the buzz, that blessed fucking buzz. I could almost laugh at the irony. The fox fae stumbles back when I release his lip. Murder in his eyes, he raises a hand and steps forward, ready to strike me.
“Freeze,” I say, my voice taking on that strange choral sound.
He freezes. They all freeze, everyone within hearing distance, at least. “Unstrap me,” I tell the fox fae, whose lip now dangles from his face like a gnarled chunk of meat. Serves him right.
He obeys, unstrapping first my arm then legs while I finish the other arm. I roll over and push up onto my hands and knees. Just this tiny bit of movement makes the room spin. I fight back the bile in my throat and slowly, carefully rise to my feet on the table, so I am standing heads and shoulders above the crowd, when I shout, “Freeze.”
The entire room goes still .
Holy Mother. What do I do now?
I climb down from the table, the sound of my feet hitting the cold marble floor seeming too loud in the now silent ballroom. Leaning against the table, I take a few deep breaths and give myself a moment for the dizziness to wane. Blood drips from the wounds on my arms and legs, but it isn’t nearly as much as I’d expected, thank the gods. This is insane. I’m a blood fae. That has to be it. Which means my mother has been lying to me my entire life. Tears meander down my cheeks, and I swipe them away. I can’t afford to get upset right now. I need to focus, be strong. I glance around the ballroom. I’ve really shown my hand here. If they catch me, I’m dead. Unless… I lean in close to Fox Face’s ear and whisper, “You think slavery is wrong. You let us go.” Then, stepping back, I point a finger at Fox Face and shout, “This male freed the slaves.” Who knows if it will work, but it’s better than nothing. I pull a cloak off a man with a skull mask and wrap it around my sore, naked body. Scrambling over to the nearest table, I whisper, “Wake up,” into the young woman’s ear. Her eyes blink, as though she’s coming out of a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. I start to unbuckle her straps as she takes in the scene around us.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “One minute, I’m overwhelmed with pain, and the next, I’m waking up to this.” I gesture to the statuesque faes surrounding us. I get her first buckle undone. “I’m not waiting around to find out, though. Finish this up. I’m going to get the others.”
She nods and starts unstrapping her other hand while I move from table to table, rousing the girls and giving them the same story. It’s not that I don’t trust them so much as I don’t expect anyone here to last very long under questioning if they’re captured—including myself. They each wrap themselves up in cloaks, same as me, and hurry for the door. I peek out first. “Freeze,” I whisper-shout before the two guards flanking the doors even get a chance to see my face. I usher the girls through, then I turn back to the guards and say, “You never saw us.”
I duck out the front and rush to crouch behind a mound of stones covered in glowing-green mildew. “Anyone have any idea how to get out of here?” I ask.
“I do,” Jael says, raising her hand. “At least I think so. I tried to pay attention when I was captured.”
“Good. I need to get Aemon. Is there somewhere you can wait for us before leaving?”
She grimaces. “You’ll never get by the guards. This is your chance. Aemon would understand.”
I shake my head. “I won’t leave him.”
Jael’s eyes go hard, lips pinched, but she doesn’t argue any further. She points toward a tunnel on the opposite side of the river. “Just go down that tunnel. I’ll try to wait for you before the turn, but I don’t know how long we have—”
I cut her off. “All I need is ten minutes. If we haven’t caught up to you by then, don’t wait. Got it?”
She gives me a curt nod, then to the others says, “Try to act natural,” and gestures for them to follow her. I don’t wait to see the girls off. I close my eyes and project my thoughts, hoping and praying I can reach Aemon this way, because I’m leaving with him, or I’m not leaving at all.